


just like the corners of her mind

by madameandromeda



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/F, Mentions of self-harm, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameandromeda/pseuds/madameandromeda
Summary: Tragedies transcribed in blood can reveal what's inside someone's soul.Stocked in inconclusive resolutions, Eve aches to connect with Villanelle again while she tries to expand her true knowledge of herself.





	just like the corners of her mind

_"So what now, Eve?"_

Echoes of that cursed voice vibrated in her diffuse mind. Challenging her, questioning her to make a move at the front of all her unreflexive actions. Calculated impulsiveness would only take her so far.

To have her gun pointed at the unarmed woman in her messed room and still not being able to shoot her revealed something about their circumstance, Eve needed a different approach, an intimate approach, to see how she would end up in a position that favored her completely. Getting inside Villanelle’s perspective of events put Eve ahead of her. To achieve the unexpected.

To play this deadly game with Villanelle letting her think she had all the cards, while Eve was actually at the advantage holding an ace.

But now, Eve felt haunted. The memory of Villanelle's touch felt ghost-like to her current perception. She had wanted to absorb and consume fully all the exposed layers of that impossible woman – gruesome yet so tangible soft, a turbulent enchanting enigma. She had wanted to trace her fingertips on every scar of that wounded face, to kiss the dry blood on her tempting upper lip.

She felt tormented. Because her path for vindication wasn't lead for a focused duty, it was more like a justification for the destructive obsession she deliberately harbored. Villanelle was the escape valve for her hidden obscurity. And that fact was explicitly visible for everyone to see, even before she had the opportunity to examine it on her own.

And she had wanted to see how far she could go. Violence pulsed in her veins, noticeable on the trail of small disasters she provoked until then. Those around her were underestimating her without taking a close look at her true nature. Sometimes, she did underestimate herself as well.

She stopped doing so when she carved the knife on the assassin's stomach without any mercy for the tired vulnerability that was displayed to her, she had meant to cause intimate hurt for all the fear and sadness Villanelle had brought to her life. For all the times she felt impotent and wanting to explode, even before the other woman had entered her life. For all the times she craved for destruction in midst normalcy that should be enough to live by – but it really wasn’t.

Because her rage had become a living being inside her chest and as lava evaporating from a volcano, Eve _exploded_.

She had pushed and twisted the knife until agony had become an inevitability in Villanelle's reactions – her face, her entire body reacting to the expanding sensation of betrayal that brought afflict indignation and sharp fragility. She had looked so young under the attack and tired, so remarkably tired. Still, maddening ecstasy filled Eve up, as the blood flow was expelled by the open flesh.

_"I am going to find the thing that you care about and I am going to kill it."_

Eve succeeded in doing that by killing the intimacy they shared at that moment. The image of security and ultimate acceptation that ached to be explored in the confines of their hearts. How different where Villanelle's facets from Eve's own after all? They attracted each other for their darker tendencies, so how powerfully they could have attracted one another for their lighter sides?

_"Someone to watch movies with."_

Now, the recognizable scent of metallic blood was impregnated in her nostrils. Vividly as she could, she remembered the deepness of perforated skin. The heated tremor located in paralazed hipbones between her thighs. The shock reflected in those wide, bright eyes. That raw choked voice, bringing her back to the reality of her actions and accentuating the harsh consequences of it.

 _"I really_ liked you. It hurts."

She felt reluctantly remorseful. To be a viewer and a cause of the light emptying out those liquid eyes during their locked gaze, to be a witness of the woman's larger-than-life existence almost giving space to a hollow shell of a bleeding body. A soul that almost got smaller enough to disappear through Eve's handle. The power that was balanced on her palms turned to be a burden.

It was a common understanding that the world could be a better place without Villanelle's chaos, even if ambiguous systems of assassins would always persist and death itself would always exist. However, between those reflections, Eve came to the frightening conclusion that she didn't wish to see Villanelle's light go out, no matter the chaotic influence she would always represent.

Eve found herself more terrified by her capacity, her own shadow rather than Villanelle's vicious actions to be upon her after the stabbing. Because it was predictable for Villanelle to act that way. Wounded, she would wound back in full force. But what was predictable for Eve to do? To reach out for the normality of her old life, to collect whatever was available of her fractured marriage, to accommodate into expressing concern for the protection of her loved ones and seek safety?

Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed fair. Nothing seemed clear enough.

The sun still went down every night. As the darkness inhabited inside Eve was becoming more visible and as she tried to understand her next move.

♢♢♢

Unchangeable. Chasing Villanelle was an unchangeable desire.

She thought about how she wanted to find Villanelle already, anticipation manifested in the way she carved a knife on the top of her stomach, later pressing her skin's sides to feel the blood goes out of her injured. Trying to recreate how she had perforated Villanelle's flesh and heart at the same time without the applied fatality. The impact of that morbid memory was so overwhelming that she wasn't being able to detach herself from it not even for a second.

Expectations of how they would collide in each other's orbit played in her head, she imagined incessantly the conclusions of their next meeting. Her thoughts went to Villanelle's scar, all of the other woman's scars from the last time she saw her. The ones on top of her face's profile, the one on her bottom lip, the one Eve caused.

Her room at the cheap hotel she rushed to be accommodate had an opaque lighting, disadvantageous to maintain any proper observation without the support of a light source, but Eve adjusted her view to rest on the two pictures placed on her bedside just after her blood had been dried.

Analyzing the images as the contrasts that they were was heavily disconcerting. On one side there was the vision of that rough, wounded girl with uncontrollable violent impulses photographed for her incarceration mugshot. On the other hand, there was that impossible innocent look and the charming smile of an intelligent young girl in her school years, with a lot of potential ahead.

_"She was so intelligent and funny, and rude."_

Words that Anna used to describe Villanelle invaded Eve's own line of thinking.

Oksana Astankova had such delicate features; her eyes and her mouth were alluring enough to exalted Eve's fixation. There so many details to remember about the ruthless woman, so many that she would recite and categorize them with frightening precision. She remembered her walk, the firm fluidity in the movement of her hips along with the concentered tension formed on her shoulders.

She wanted to feel and unveil everything related to Villanelle, to Oksana. Like her lungs craved for air, like her heart needed its beats, like her blood needed to flow, like her soul needed an awakening.

All of a sudden, Eve felt envy acidifying her core. Anna had access to the inaccessible. Anna got to prove what she almost allowed herself to feel – a feral woman in the shape of a delicate body, around her, against her, inside of her.

_"I mean, I masturbate about you a lot."_

A vision was conjured. Raw and innocent eyes, lips contouring a charming smile. What was formed was a combination of the only pictures she got to carry with her anywhere with a touch of the reality she had experienced. She dislocated her mind to navigate in her imagination until it transported her to a large bed, with broken champagne bottles on the ground, the same scene, with different outcomes. A closer where savagery gave space for intimacy to exist, rather than denying it.

Instead of blood, distinct perfume directed from close contact to skin was all she would smell and all she would taste. Instead of open wounds, there would be open legs wrapping one another between sheets. Instead of cries of pain, there was interlaced passion filling all the lacunas of the bedroom. Touches with a purpose to ignite pleasure, not to inflict revenge as an act of rebellion against oneself. A hateful kind of loving merged with a twisted tenderness involved.

With that image running behind her eyelids, she allowed herself to have this. The realness of a brutal fantasy to trace her fingers over her folds coated in the slick wetness located between her trembling legs rested on the mattress. Stimulating her heat shamelessly, wishing she knew which obscene scenarios Villanelle would touch herself to while thinking about her. Wishing she would perform every single one of them, if only it would expand her understanding of the other woman’s desires.

Because it would help her to explore her own scenarios freely. Her own desires more fully.

_"You like me too much."_

And as her heart sank in the pike of dawn at the edge of her orgasm, she realized that _yes_ , she did.

Too much indeed.

♢♢♢

Adrenaline kicked in. The clue of her undercover investigation of Villanelle's whereabouts finally found it reaches in an abandoned theatre in Milan. A maze of a place, refined enough to be exceptional but compact to camouflage the fact a living lethal presence would be residing there. That building was loaded with hits of the assassin’s exquisite essence and it was intoxicating.

The night was coming to an end to give space to the morning sunrise as Eve invaded the environment from the back entrance, a dimly lit path led her to the clear image of the main stage through her location at the backstage.

And there was her.

White shirt, this time covered with blood coming from her ripped lip. Hands tied in a firm knot against a metal chair while her ankles appeared to have the same treatment. Hair down framing the wild look in her feature – anger, frustration, mockery, and disgust were transparent expressions being delivered.

A tall, dressed in a silver suit man had a gun pointed to her nemesis. His facet carrying a vicious rage. Eve ached the instant he had punched high cheekbones with the back of his gun, causing another wound to open and more blood drops to stain her clothes.

Eve observed the scene midst red curtains obstructing her complete appearance. Her face only showing in a half, the lights of the main stage and the darkness of the backstage dividing her.

But as Eve grabbed the curtains in fury for the unfolded situation, her eyes interlocked with the wounded woman as she regained a strength after her attack. A second was all it needed. A second of instant recognition was enough to Eve capture Villanelle’s voice in the back of her skull.

_“So what now, Eve?”_

The moment was brief and Villanelle turned to face the man once again, hiding Eve’s presence from his perspective. Pushing him to focus on her, enraging further him with tales of her glory over the kill she had so ahead of him. Not caring for the way his hands were shaking on the trigger, his entire body vibrating with energy to destroy, to eliminate, to shoot Villanelle away from this world.

A second was all it needed. His finger almost pushed the trigger. But Eve acted ahead of him. Explosive and impulsive aches evaporated throughout her, there was no turning back from this.

Her long strides lead the knife she had in her raincoat pocket came to perforated his back in a deep pressure, not giving him space to react turning to her direction because as soon she had stabbed him once, she also stabbed him twice. Repeatedly colliding her knife to his backbone to his lumbar, his body squirming in agony as he had a failed attempt to retaliate with shots that didn’t hit any targets. Until his suit was covered in red and until red was the only color Eve could perceive.

The relief of giving in to destruction was devastating. She couldn’t stop her movements, discharging all the extensions of her viciousness in overpowering him was too important, especially since he represented a force that wanted to ruin the one who had brought to light Eve’s darkness in the most formidable all-consuming matter. Still, it was an individual liberation, a concrete manifestation of a vital part of her true self.

From behind, she didn’t need to see his eyes emptying out to reflect on the consequences of his ending existence. She invoked death in her favorable position. She stabbed him until he had fallen on the ground, his trembling form stopping, blood molding a bloody silhouette on the wooden stage.

And Eve’s knees collided on the floor as well. Her palms and torso covered in messy, viscid blood. The knife she handled rested on her thighs, her vision alternating between the blood she carried and the empty shell of the defeated man.

Another presence made herself being noticed by a noise, turning Eve’s eyes to be focused on her.

There was blood spatters in a fine line scattered around almost her entire face and Eve didn't think she would see that look so soon again. That incredulous, awed look being directed at her in such disarming way. But she supposed she had surprised Villanelle once again.

“Come to finish your job with me too?”

The question weighted in Eve like an echoing heartbeat. There was a palpable bitterness highlighted by the other woman’s words even between the spark of her fascination being exposed through her wide feral eyes. Unsubtle as it could be was the fiery desire being exalted to her, as if Villanelle wasn’t able to restrain herself from still wanting her, for all her discovered layers.

“I just helped to save your life. Don’t you think that if I really wanted you dead, I would simply let that bastard have his way with you?” she corresponded the accusation reaffirming fatigue on her low shoulders and her resting knees.

“I was lead to believe you prefer to get your hands dirty,” Villanelle directed her vision to lay on Eve’s lap, before turning to finish, "Besides, I could have had everything under control.”

A train in a fast speed of motion trod Eve's line of thinking. Hypothesis always favored the control that Villanelle could have on any occasions. Perhaps she knew how to measure the man's reactions until she raised him to a resolution for her. But it was like a Russian roulette – full of traps on the way, sneaky clutches out of sight, a real game of chance for assassinations. But for Eve? It was something she needed to do with no games involved. Her motivation was personal because to cause a not-personal death, she reached the peak of her capacity for violence.

There was no more ambiguity in her actions, no value or revenge to justified. Only the certainty of who she really was and how she could handle her poorly elaborated inclinations along with the weight of her morals being scattered one by one.

“My hands are way too dirty for one day, Oksana, believe me this much.”

To reinforce her confession, Eve got up and held her knife once again, this time to cut the knots that were holding Villanelle to the chair. And as if she were releasing a lion from chains, Eve surrendered herself to what could be an end or a beginning, delivering the knife to Villanelle to hold this time.

 _“So what now?”_ she questioned with a gaze, rather than her voice, just like the assassin had done to her before. Challenging her, questioning her to make a move at the front of the stage covered with the scent of fresh death and thick blood.

If Villanelle decided to crave the knife her stomach through a vicious act of retribution for their last encounter, she still wouldn't kill or take anything from Eve. The idea of their intimacy would remain because they would always collide together. Their power play between irrelevant deaths and persecutions was leading to an equal ground where they both could stand side by side.

Or in this case, front to front. With Villanelle looking at her intently, capturing the whole figure of Eve as if she were trying to map her, to make sense of her, to get inside her mind just as much Eve was trying to get inside of hers all this time. Her reflections were illegible but her intensity was felt at the most extreme levels. Tension and doubt shifting the heaviness on her shoulders amid heavy breaths.

Seeing her hesitation made all the rage and fear inside of Eve subsided. Primal desire coiled in the deepest of her spirit, waking an uncontrollable revelation there. Instead of giving space to Villanelle to complete her next move, Eve leaned over to kiss her, and immediately she was reciprocated with a distinct ferocity that followed Villanelle around in everything she does.

Graceful and messy, it was what should have been. Upon her, layers beyond shapes of shivers were spread through her body. Villanelle let the knife hit the floor as she grasps Eve’s curls to adjust and intensify the depth of the kiss while Eve reached to hold her waistline.

And _oh_ , kissing her felt like the sun was rising in the morning inside of her. Light embodying her whole being as that tongue was circling her own. She tasted like every dark thought Eve ever had, combined with the exquisite solace of every secret she had hidden being exposed.

Between her ribs, grew the expansion of something extending out of her and in her veins, she imagined liquid gold. The blood she tasted on Villanelle’s lips was sweet like honey. There was so much energy, so much heat energizing her, she felt _illumined_.

This wild brightness, calibrated in a scorching heat marked her ascension – her absolute acceptation of herself, right in the arms and lips of the woman who had changed everything in her understating of who she really was.

It couldn't erase their past or annulled the disasters of their future. But if they could balance each other out – a manifestation of chaos and a crave of normalcy to install order, a light for exposure and a darkness for comfort – the world around them could just turn to ashes and it wouldn't matter at all, not even a little bit.


End file.
